


Five Greetings, and One Farewell

by prowlish



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were five times they said "hello" in not so many words, but only one time to say goodbye.</p><p>[ETA: Now with a slightly better summary, fixed formatting, and all of my notes!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Greetings, and One Farewell

**Author's Note:**

> Wow I really don't know how to do summaries anymore. Or how to summarize this thing I have been dragging tail on since OCTOBER. Jfc.
> 
> This whole thing is based on a headcanon I came up for Knockout & Breakdown's background/whatever in an rp I did/am doing with a friend.
> 
> This is also one of those things that just decided to come out in present tense. I... don't know. I tried to keep it consistent but I may have failed in a place or two. :/
> 
>  
> 
> eta: fucking copy & paste into this box is KILLING my format this time around, of course, so I'll have to fix THAT later too. /flips tables
> 
> eta2: fixed!

**[1]**

 

The first time Breakdown spots him, he’s elbows deep in a greyed-out corpse. His bright, high-gloss red is easy to spot against the remains of the battlefield. Still, it’s odd, and he wouldn’t have thought of him as a doctor without the way Bulkhead murmurs under the sound of his own intake cycle. When, curious, he presses his friend for information, all he gets out of the bot is: “All I know is you don’t _wanna_ know.” Breakdown frowns, but follows when Bulkhead beckons him along. But he doesn’t go without several backwards glances at that bright spot of red among blue-stained grey.

 

It wouldn’t be the only time he’d spot that mech -- the doctor -- as the only vibrant spot among too many corpses and too much energon. Bulkhead doesn’t like the way he keeps looking, or asking what his name is, at least, so Breakdown keeps silent when it’s the two of them. But one time, finally, he’s out scanning for survivors and cataloging the casualties with Wheeljack instead, and Wheeljack couldn’t give the first scrap what he does…

 

They’re close enough that Breakdown can accurately trace the shapes of the doctor’s frame with his optics, the swooping curves of his shoulders and the high point of his helm’s crest, and with only a sideways glance at Wheeljack, he steps within a respectable speaking distance. The doctor doesn’t even lift his helm, yet Breakdown gets the feeling that the red bot is quite aware of his presence. He tilts his helm, thinking of what to say, until he hears the other speak. “Did you finally work up the courage to say hello?” he remarks, though he never looks up nor does he stop what he’s doing.

 

Breakdown snorts, but still gives it another moment, as though considering the doctor’s voice; he was actually watching the movement of hands smaller and more delicate than his own -- though later he might ponder the lovely low notes of the mech’s voice. “Been keeping tabs on me?” he finally replies.

 

The red bot lets out his own snort -- muffled laughter -- and returns, “You’re a little hard to miss.”

 

Breakdown chuckles. “I guess I am.”

 

“You didn’t answer me.” It’s as though he’s waited patiently for a conversational partner while he works. With the dead’s innards around him, organized in neat piles, and his arms covered in blue up to his elbows as he pulled more from the current corpse, Breakdown doubts many ever approach him… no matter how attractive his frame or the warm tones of his voice.

 

The Wrecker settles his hands on his hips. No, he doesn’t judge the mech as lonely… merely bored. “Should I need much courage to say hello?”

 

“I should think not,” was the reply. Breakdown can just barely see the curve of those lips into a smile. He shakes his helm, a grin spreading across his own lips.

 

“You’re not a big scary Decepticon, are you?” he says, the tease evident in his voice.

 

“No. Are you?”

 

“No,” was the instant reply. “I’m a Wrecker.”

 

“Ah. A different brand of ‘big and scary’,” the doctor remarks. There’s no laughter, but definite amusement in his voice.

 

Breakdown snorts in laughter. “Something like that.” He watches the other for a long moment; he expected the answers he got -- if he were a Decepticon, Bulkhead would have said so, and he didn’t wear any visible faction symbols. Still, he was curious about this doctor. “Name’s Breakdown,” he speaks up again. “You?”

 

“Knockout,” the doctor replies.

 

“One of my teammates told me you’re a doctor… guess that’s kinda obvious watching you, but most of them have been recruited by a faction…” But Knockout wasn’t one of the Autobots’, or he might have known.

 

Knockout hums. “Most, perhaps, but not all.”

 

Breakdown grunts. “Still practicing, then?”

 

The red bot looks up for the first time, an amused glint in his optics as he grins. “Oh yes, war is very good for business,” he replies, setting aside another extracted piece of the dead bot’s insides.

 

“Hm… what’re you doing here, then?” Breakdown wonders, watching as Knockout pulls a cloth from his subspace and begin to clean the energon from his hands and arms.

 

Soft laughter breaks from Knockout. “Well,” he says, “I may be no Decepticon, but the Autobots aren’t big fans of me, either. They keep throwing roadblocks at me… so if there’s been more fighting, it’s a cheaper way to get spare parts.”

 

Breakdown lifts his optic ridges. “By grave robbing?”

 

Knockout laughs again. “Well, it isn’t exactly grave robbing, is it? Grave robbing requires a grave.”

 

Frowning, Breakdown shakes his helm. “Body-looting, whatever. Still…”

 

With both arms now clean, Knockout disposes of the soiled cloth and lets out another laugh at Breakdown’s expense. “These poor unfortunate sparks aren’t exactly _using_ these parts, are they?” he replies, sweeping an arm to encompass the casualties that surround them.

 

Breakdown shifts his weight to one pede. “Well, no, but…”

 

Knockout arches an optic ridge. “Yes?”

 

“Couldn’t you, I dunno… put them to rest or something?”

 

Here Knockout makes a scoffing noise, though he laughs again. “I’m a doctor, not a priest.”

 

Breakdown frowns. “Yeah, but.. using them that way, and then just leaving them there, gutted? Don’t it bother you?”

 

The doctor shrugs. “Not particularly,” he replies, beginning to pack his finds away.

 

The larger bot crosses his arms, letting out a huff of air from his vents. “No wonder the Autobots don’t like you,” he mutters.

 

Knockout snickers. “The feeling’s mutual, I find them to be _the_ most tiresome patients…” he says with a gesture of his hands. He stands, finally, looking up a Breakdown from just a helm shorter now. “Either way, a job’s a job, yes?”

 

Frowning again, Breakdown studies Knockout with another tilt of his helm, though he knows he must look like a confused turbopup. “I guess.”

 

Pausing, Knockout rests a hand on his hip, cutting Breakdown an amused look. “Aw, does big bad Wrecker Breakdown not like me anymore, either?”

 

Breakdown stares down at him, then shrugs a shoulder. “Didn’t say that,” he replies.

 

It was Knockout’s turn to tilt his helm like a curious turbopup, but the smirk still curls his lips. “Oh?” he says. “Being polite to my face, are we?”

 

Breakdown shakes his head. “Barely known you a breem, doc.” He shrugs. “I find you interesting, I guess.”

 

“Interesting?” Knockout repeats with another grin. “Is that _all_?”

 

Breakdown grins himself, and finally lets his arms uncross. “No,” he finally says, “but that’s all for polite company.”

 

The doctor’s shoulders shake with his laughter at this remark. Hands settling on his hips again, his weight rests on a single pede as he smirks up at Breakdown. “Whoever said _I’m_ polite company?” Breakdown joins his laughter for a brief moment, but his comm. beeps before he can reply. He blinks; he’s almost forgotten the job he was doing with Wheeljack! Knockout watches him closely. “Duty calls?”

 

“Yeah,” Breakdown mutters. “I’m comin’, Wheeljack, don’t get bent out of shape…”

 

Knockout chuckles one last time as he turns and transforms, but not without a soft, “See you around,” in a little purr at Breakdown.

 

**[2]**

 

It’s been decacycles since the Wrecker introduced himself, and Knockout finds that he looks forward to the times he spots the large blue bot across yet another grim field full of the dead. He’s not sure they’d call each other “friend,” but they have enough fun conversing -- even flirting -- as Knockout guts more felled soldiers to keep his stock. The facts of this clearly never bothers the doctor himself, but Breakdown seems uncomfortable with it. In fact, Knockout enjoys watching the mech squirm and battle between his curiosity and obvious attraction, and his discomfort with conversing so casually over such macabre work.

 

So when he sees Breakdown outside the entrance to his small workshop, it’s a bit of a shock; he doesn’t recall ever telling Breakdown from where he operated or the bot ever asking, yet there he stands with an anxious look in his pale golden optics. “Breakdown?” he questions as he opens the door, looking the bot over. He doesn’t _seem_ injured -- Knockout squawks as his visual analysis is interrupted by the larger bot crowding him back inside and locking the door. With a huff, Knockout steps back, inspecting his finish before he stares up at Breakdown with more irritation than curiosity now. “Make yourself at home,” he snorts. “What’s wrong? You don’t look injured, though perhaps you got whacked on the head…”

 

Breakdown ignores him in favor of peering out a window before he finally turns to face the doctor again. “The Wreckers are coming after you.”

 

Knockout lets his crossed arms fall to his hips. “Pardon?”

 

Breakdown sighs. “You really weren’t kidding when you said the Autobots don’t like you,” he remarks. “They wanna take out your operation. So they sent a few of us…”

 

Frowning, Knockout shakes his head. “Well yes, they aren’t fond of me, but the _Wreckers_? Isn’t that a bit of overkill?”

 

The blue bot makes a frustrated sound and gestures his hands. “I don’t know, they’re trying to make it into this big… I don’t know,” he finishes, glancing back out of the window.

 

“Ah,” Knockout says, understanding. “So the great propaganda wheel turns.” Then he narrows his optics slightly, stepping back to put a bit more space between them. “And what is this, then? A warning, or a preemptive strike?”

 

Breakdown turns back quickly, a hard frown on his lips. “A warning,” he says, looking affronted. “I’m not that underhanded… I just don’t think this is right,” he finishes in a mutter. Knockout watches him with the same interest he always has; Breakdown is clearly conflicted between his loyalty to his faction and his own set of values. And this is what he chose? Interesting.

 

“You should leave before they spot you here,” Knockout finally replies. “It won’t be good for you, I imagine.”

 

“And you? Aren’t you going to leave?” Breakdown demands.

 

Knockout smiles. “I have a plan, yes. I just hope it isn’t too late.” Breakdown stares at him, as though in disbelief. He laughs; how adorable -- the bot seemed not to have estimated just how much effort Knockout devotes to saving his own skidplates. This was no mere workshop he resided in. “Go. I’ll be fine.” Breakdown gives him one last doubtful look before he finally goes back to the door when Knockout shoos him again.

 

The doctor watches him step through the door, and nods to himself. He barely gets to the hidden control panels when he hears the sounds of shouting voices and laserfire. Scrap, the turbohounds really _were_ at his door, weren’t they? But there were the unmistakable sounds of a fight… Obviously they caught Breakdown right as he left, and it was turning out badly as Knockout predicted.

 

Knockout pauses, thinking. Should he? Giving an irritated huff, he hits a different combination of controls than his first intention, putting the medical parts of his workshop under lockdown. Picking up an energon prod -- almost a staff, really, with as many modifications as Knockout’s tinkered with on it -- he makes his way for the exit as well.

 

It takes him just a few moments to analyze the scene before him: Breakdown facing off against two equally large green mechs, and he’s already looking the worse for wear. The dark green one definitely seems burnt up with anger over the whole deal, if the grinding of his denta were any indication. The other Wrecker-pal of Breakdown’s wasn’t any less incensed, but he seems a step away from it all, analyzing the situation just as much as Knockout is. Knockout hums, taking a step further from his door. “Why Breakdown, I didn’t know you were the type to defend my honor,” he says, amusement in his tone.

 

Breakdown growled low in his vocalizer, silver faceplates scrunched up. “Who said it was _your_ honor I’m defending?” he shoots back.

 

Knockout laughs and twirls the prod in his hand lazily. “One for one each way. Now that seems a bit more fair than three against one,” he hums.

 

“Shut up and fight, docbot,” one of the others demands.

 

Knockout grins.

 

\---

 

Knockout hates fighting. Not for any ideological reasons, but personally? It’s dirty work -- dirtier than being a medic, anyway. He’s covered in scuffs and dents and a few energon-leaking injuries, though nowhere near as bad as Breakdown. Knockout, at least, is fully conscious. “Come _on_ ,” he grumbles, tugging on an arm of the blue mech. Breakdown had won his rather personal face-off against Bulkhead, and Knockout had gotten lucky enough to stun Springer with his energon prod. But he has the sneaking suspicion that the effect won’t last long, so he needs to get them back in his “workshop” _now_ and get them out of there. After all, he didn’t join the fight and ruin his finish just to leave Breakdown behind, the stupid fragger.

 

Breakdown stirs and gives a soft grunt. “What?”

 

Knockout pulls again, dragging him another few inches. “I _said_ , get your aft back inside,” he snaps.

 

“Stronger than you look,” Breakdown rumbles. Knockout rolls his optics. It wasn’t as though he’d survived this long on his own by sheer luck!

 

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good, but that Springer of yours won’t be down for the count very long, so let’s _move._ ”

 

Breakdown groans with effort; one of his knee joints is completely busted, but he manages to help scoot himself in the door with Knockout’s combined efforts. “We’re still stuck in here, though,” he says, looking around the workshop.

 

Knockout shakes his helm, locking down the exits again and making his way back to the control panels. “Do you honestly think I’d dance the line between two factions full of destruction-hungry thugs and _not_ have an escape plan?” he remarks. No reply. That’s what he thought! Unless... The doctor looks over his shoulder and finds that Breakdown has lost consciousness on the floor. “Scrap,” he mutters.

 

Still, when he feels the engines rumble to life and is confident in the autopilot systems, he makes his way to the blue bot’s side. “You sure don’t know how to greet a bot properly,” he grumbled. It was going to be great fun hauling Breakdown to one of the medberths…

 

**[3]**

 

Knockout had warned him, was all Breakdown thinks. Knockout had been right. It repeats over and over in his processors. Knockout had warned him. At least he doesn’t feel any pain now. Vaguely, he wonders if he’s dead. Then he ponders if he’d be able to wonder that if he’s truly offline. He grunts. Well, he definitely _hears_ that… and he hears other things. Mechanical beeps, the whirr and sigh of vents… Smells come next, and the distinct sterile scent tells him he’s in a medbay. The high tang of expensive wax tells him who’s medbay. Breakdown grunts again, and after a moment, he’s able to online his optics. There’s the sound of quiet pedefalls, and then Knockout’s face comes into view. “Heya, doc,” he manages.

 

Knockout rolls his optics, looking incredibly put-upon. “You know, if you’re going to be so eager to undo all my hard work, at least tell me first so I can cut corners,” he says drily.

 

Breakdown laughs softly, then winces as he feels new patches pull tight. “Sorry,” he murmurs. He hesitates… then, “You were right.”

 

The red bot arches an optic ridge. “I usually am,” he replies. Fortunately, he avoids the rest. No demands to know why Breakdown had gone back, despite Knockout’s warnings. They already had the argument several times after he was well enough to argue, once Knockout had patched him up from the fight with Bulkhead and Springer. No “I told you so’s” other than the implied. Breakdown was doing enough of that, with how _Knockout was right_ kept ringing in his processors like it had been screamed into his audios.

 

Huffing, Breakdown shuffles onto his side. “I just thought… I mean, me and Bulkhead, we’re close. Or we were… I thought if I went back and explained...” An ambivalent “hmm” was Knockout’s only reply to that. There’s silence for a moment, only broken by the soft hum of engines and Knockout rifling through datapads. Engines seem an odd thing to hear in this setting, but he remembers all too well Knockout moving his whole medical center about after the Wreckers’ attack. The whole thing a slagging ship. Well, Knockout never lied to him -- when he’d told Breakdown he had a plan, he hadn’t been kidding.

 

Now it was Breakdown who had no plans. Nothing new, he’d always played things by the audio, did what felt right in the moment… yet this is where it’s led him.

 

After a moment, Breakdown decides talking is better than thinking about how the Autobots now considered him a traitor. “Why did you follow me?”

 

There’s such a pause that Breakdown thinks the doctor won’t reply, until he finally hears a soft sigh. “I dislike being in anyone’s debt.”

 

Frowning, Breakdown rolls onto his back again with a soft thud. “You already saved my skidplate the first time.” There really was no reason he sees that Knockout should have followed him. None that have roots in reality, anyway.

 

Knockout frowns over his shoulder at him, as though he weren’t particular about this thread of conversation. “Then consider it a favor,” he replies shortly.

 

A gruff laugh rolls from Breakdown’s vocals. “A favor? Why, we friends now?”

 

Knockout is silent another moment. “Are we?” he finally said. Breakdown pauses, not seeming to have an answer for that. Not one he dared voice. He finds himself wanting to keep in Knockout’s good graces. The doctor lets out a sigh from his vents. “The more important question, really, is how well you can move around.”

 

Breakdown grunts, but he takes just fine to the change of topic. He moves with obvious stiffness and discomfort, but still it isn’t too much of a task for him to sit up. Knockout watches him critically before nodding once -- and Breakdown catches something in a reflection that causes him to start, and derails any ideas for their interaction that he might’ve had. “What?” Knockout says, frowning.

 

The Wrecker -- or ex-Wrecker now, he supposes -- squints into the warped reflection of a distant, polished surface, before he frowns over at Knockout. “Is… my face a different color?” Much to Breakdown’s irritation, Knockout laughs instead of making any reply. “ _Knockout_.” He is _not_ pouting, not him!

 

Licking his lips, Knockout finally calms himself and simply grins at Breakdown. “Okay, yes, you’re right,” he replies, vents still hitching a bit.

 

Clearly unamused with Knockout’s mirth, Breakdown scowls. “Never thought you were a jokester,” he grumbles.

 

“What?” Knockout says, leaning against the medberth in front of Breakdown. A touch of sharpness replaces the warmth from his earlier laughter. “It’s not a joke! I think it looks good! Splash of color always livens things up! Plus I had to replace most of your faceplate, so…” He shrugs a shoulder.

 

Breakdown lets out an unintelligible grumble. “Why orange, then?”

 

The doctor smirks. “My favorite color.”

 

Breakdown rolls his optics. Of course.

 

[4]

 

They are far away on an alien planet, but as far into the war as they are now, it’s nothing new. Except that the alternate modes that this planet was able to offer actually interest Knockout… though for the moment what he’s more interested in is delaying reporting in to Starscream for as long as possible. With the Decepticon second-in-command actually...commanding, well -- both he and Breakdown found the seeker far more intolerable than ever. Especially since, for the time being, Starscream is keeping a tight lip on why _he_ is in command and they are yet to hear from Megatron. So grinding Starscream’s gears is even more fun than usual.

 

Besides, Knockout has to get used to his new alternate mode, doesn’t he? Honestly he’s already familiar -- he’s raced around on his new wheels quite a bit after thoroughly researching all the options that had interested him the most. But who says he has to be honest with Starscream? It isn’t as though the seeker ever returns the favor.

 

He smiles when he hears Breakdown drive up behind him -- he knows that engine anywhere -- though he doesn’t turn around quite yet. He’s enjoying watching the organic creatures racing their own automobiles around, even if it’s only a spot of amusement. Behind him, there’s the distinct sound of transformation, and suddenly a hand on one of the tires mounted on his back. The large, blunt finger spins the rubber thing, and Knockout laughs, finally glancing over his shoulder.

 

Breakdown is grinning at him. “What? They’re distracting.” He gives the wheel another spin.

 

Knockout shakes his helm, resting a hand on his hip. “A few orns ago, it was the biolights on my back that were distracting.”

 

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have a brand new alt-mode then.”

 

The doctor snorts. “I’m glad my new kibble is so entertaining for you. Can’t even say hello.” He tuts as one of Breakdown’s large hands joins his on his hip. The mech is clearly ignoring the finer points of his dialogue… and there is business yet. “Now, now… what of the energy signal we picked up?”

 

From the sigh that ghosts across his helm, Knockout can perfectly picture his partner rolling his optics. The doctor grins to himself; making Breakdown wait is something he enjoys far too much, and they both know it. One of their many games. It’s funny to think about sometimes, how natural their progression from cautious alliance to this… partnership… has been. All in all, Knockout has not many complaints. No, not many at all. “It’s definitely energon of some kind,” he replies. He hasn’t moved his hand from over Knockout’s.

 

“Hmm… it’s a start. We’re already late -- Starscream won’t be pleased.”

 

Another huff. “Who cares about pleasing Starscream?” Breakdown’s other hand slides over Knockout’s chestplates and downwards.

 

Knockout smirks. “ _Care_? Genuinely care? You’re joking,” Knockout hums, arching just a touch into the brush of that broad hand. “Antagonizing him is fun, but keeping him happy overall leads to a much easier and processor-ache free life…” Sad as it was to say, but it seems they’ll have to kiss up to the acting leader for the time being.

 

Laughter rumbles from deep in Breakdown’s chassis, but he’s clearly not focusing on the conversation itself. Knockout can’t find that he’s too interested in continuing the conversation either… but he keeps the energon signal in mind all the same.

 

Later he’ll gloss over his tardiness by complaining of a long drive. He’ll excuse Breakdown’s absence with the energon signal they’ve already picked up. He’ll talk and charm and slip his way into Starscream’s good graces, and the seeker will forget even the little slight of their untimeliness… later on.

 

But for now, he’s content to lose himself in his partner’s touch.

 

**[5]**

 

After Starscream’s condescension, and a verbal dressing-down from Megatron, all Breakdown can think of is joining Knockout wherever he is. Usually the medbay -- he was a mechanism of habit, but Megatron had also been keeping the medic busy of late. And many things he might expect upon shuffling into the medbay, but the crash of an energon storage cube shattering alarmingly close to his helm wasn’t quite one of them. “Uh.” He doesn’t catch what Knockout’s shouted -- something about Starscream being a nuisance. The doctor seems to freeze at the sound of Breakdown’s voice and turns to stare properly at the entrance to his medbay.

 

“Breakdown!” he calls, striding forward… not with urgency, but purpose -- an internal admonishment. Though maybe he’s wrong. Something about the brightness of Knockout’s optics, or the eagerness of his hands to touch his scratched and marred plating.

 

Then suddenly, comparatively small fists smack into his heavily armored front. Knockout is angry again, but then the medic always had the capability to be so fickle. “Stupid!” he hisses. “The fragging _skinjobs_? And Starscream!” Knockout continues this way for a long breem, hardly seeming to string together an actual chastising, but rather shouting because it feels right.

 

This Breakdown understands, and he’s content to play his role, to disarm the doctor’s ruffled plating. It’s easy, it’s familiar, and it’s very welcome to focus upon, rather than the events of the past orn. The slagging humans, and Bulkhead, and being abandoned by Megatron. But the ex-Wrecker has long worked out that more of his loyalties lie with the crimson mech before him, who had as little to do with his abandonment as any of the Vehicons aboard the ship. It was why Bulkhead’s sudden offer could be so tempting and yet not at all.

 

Not without Knockout. He simply accepts it as fact, because there’s no need to go further into it than that.

 

“Well, hello to you, too,” he finally says, and isn’t much surprised when Knockout slaps his cheek and goes back to ranting. Still grinning, Breakdown simply tunes him out, and slowly calms him in other ways. A broad thumb rubbing over his palm; a hand playing with one of the wheels mounted upon Knockout’s back; a grin or a twinkle of his optics. Well. _Optic_ , now.

 

A sudden motion brings Breakdown’s attention back to the present, and he focuses his audios on Knockout’s voice, which has gone from anger to outrage, not quite disgust, yet almost… remorse. “...and your optic,” was all he could catch. A slender claw traces the path of the wound down his cheek and Breakdown winces. The pain receptors were slow to come alive again, but they were there. Breakdown blinks his remaining optic.

 

He knows, even as Knockout begins speaking again -- calmly, now -- this time of repairs, and not frustrations or threats of revenge, that his optic cannot be replaced. Not as it was on the Nemesis, not with the supply they worked with. As much as this was the forefront of Megatron’s war efforts, it was still remote, and the delicate components of an optic could be difficult to come by even in a booming Cybertronian centre. Still, Breakdown has utter confidence that Knockout will do the best with what was provided him… because that’s what he always has done.

 

Eventually, Breakdown can’t resist cutting off Knockout’s renewed, almost manic, chatter with a little kiss. Knockout sighs, but he can’t truly mind so much with the enthusiastic response he gave Breakdown, can he? Breakdown can’t help but feel victory in his spark as the rest of the tension bleeds from Knockout’s frame as he’s enveloped by the larger one.

 

What more words need there be, anyway?

  


**[+1]**

 

Normally his medbay smells of a few things -- sterilizing solvent, clean oil, and the high notes of his own wax. And those smells are still there, to be sure, but so many others are now present that the mix doesn’t bring a clean medbay to mind, but rather some place dark and filthy: the faint, coppery smell of human blood, the distinct sweaty, grungy scent of flesh -- it curdles the energon in Knockout’s tanks, and yet he feels a deep satisfaction despite the disgust.

 

Because it _had_ been satisfying, despite the disturbing sights of Breakdown’s desecrated frame. All of the filthy human’s screams, of rage and pain, and finally fear… There’s something to relish in the dark fluid staining his talons, despite his compulsion to scrub his hands clean. He has a long memory -- he knows that this human was also the one responsible for the failed attempt at dissecting Breakdown a stellar cycle or so ago.

 

His only disappointment is in the frailty of the organic creature, because he could easily have dished out five times what he had and still not be satisfied. But it had felt good to rip the stinking organic out of Breakdown’s broken chassis, to dispose of him so thoroughly…

 

The mess was displeasing and yet not at the same time, but Knockout would take care of it later. There were other things to do first.

 

He trekked his way slowly, dreamlike, to Breakdown’s broken and lifeless form. Yet it was still better than watching the sick mockery that was a human controlling him. He lifts a cleaning rag and begins methodically cleaning every inch of the burnt and dented plating. Once more, he notes how Breakdown seems to have been cut to pieces and then inexpertly welded and jumbled back together. His denta grit and he pauses for a moment, claws threatening to tear the cloth in his hand to ribbons. But Knockout stares at the still face and sighs, and he continues working until the battered blue plating is nearly shining again.

 

Orange faceplates, he thinks as he looks again, and he almost smiles. His hands still again, discarding the cloth, then moving once more. Tracing up his chassis, down to his shoulders, mapping all the planes and angles and textures he’s still so familiar with.

 

Knockout brings his hands back to himself, but can’t keep his optics away. “You were awful at hellos,” he informed the dark, too-still form. Breakdown should be stirring, making some smart remark or terrible joke, or telling Knockout that kissing him or touching his tempting hips (or hands, or whatever was too tempting and distracting for him that orn) is more than an adequate hello. But no; now he is silent. “Who said I had to be good at goodbyes? Told you when we met that I’m no slagging priest,” he says softly. But now, as ever, he would try -- for Breakdown’s sake. He reaches a hand out, over where Breakdown’s spark should have been -- from where he had just ripped out that filthy flesh-creature.

 

“Well, then. Farewell, my friend.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have A LOT OF NOTES to add in here, but I must run off to work. Normally I'd wait until I had time, but I am so excited about finishing this that I wanted to throw it up.
> 
> So if you're interested in my excessive prattle about this whole thing... check here later!
> 
>  
> 
> Eta: heeeere we go!
> 
> 1) Knockout's workshop/ship -- I feel like I didn't convey it very well, but I wasn't sure how much else I could shove in there without outright saying it, because I am difficult that way. But I figured that he'd have an escape plan like that. He's always looking out for his own skidplate, after all.
> 
> 2) I also had wanted to do one of those 5 +1 story format things. I'm... not quite sure I succeeded with it? But I like the way this came out anyway, so no worries I guess! It helped me focus on how to structure things without getting too lost or mired, so.
> 
> 3) Breakdown's face -- from several screenshots I've seen (I haven't read these comics myself, unfortunately) it seemed that Breakdown's face used to be silver! I don't know how canon it is, but at the same time I noticed this I had happened upon Knockout's kreon biography which stated that his favorite color was orange! So there was a immediate headcanon formed that Breakdown's face was silver until Knockout decided it needed color. HIS favorite color, of course! ;)
> 
> 4) A small notation, but on the use of the term "biolights" -- I don't actually know where I first saw this term, just that I slowly became aware of its use in several fics and other such that I read. So I adopted it -- not claiming it as my own, but it is a hell of a lot simpler and more concise than "those pretty red glowies all over the TFP/Aligned bots" :B
> 
>  
> 
> & as always -- visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


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